Then, still
troubled in mind, he carefully shut the door of his room, and
descended to Mr. Fogg.

Mr. Fogg was quite ready. Under his arm might have been observed
a red-bound copy of Bradshaw's Continental Railway Steam Transit
and General Guide, with its timetables showing the arrival and
departure of steamers and railways. He took the carpetbag, opened
it, and slipped into it a goodly roll of Bank of England notes,
which would pass wherever he might go.

"You have forgotten nothing?" he asked.

"Nothing, monsieur."

"My mackintosh and cloak?"

"Here they are.

"Good! Take this carpetbag," handing it to Passepartout. "Take
good care of it, for there are twenty thousand pounds in it."

Passepartout nearly dropped the bag, as if the twenty thousand
pounds were in gold, and weighed him down.

Master and man then descended, the street door was double-locked,
and at the end of Saville Row they took a cab and drove rapidly
to Charing Cross. The cab stopped before the railway station at
twenty minutes past eight. Passepartout jumped off the box and
followed his master, who, after paying the cabman, was about to
enter the station, when a poor beggar woman, with a child in her
arms, approached him. Her naked feet were smeared with mud, her
head covered with a wretched bonnet, from which hung a tattered
feather, and her shoulders shrouded in a ragged shawl. She
mournfully asked for alms.

Mr. Fogg took out the twenty guineas he had just won at whist,
and handed them to the beggar, saying, "Here, my good woman. I'm
glad that I met you"; and passed on.

Passepartout had a moist sensation about the eyes. His master's
action touched his susceptible heart.

Two first-class tickets for Paris having been speedily purchased,
Mr. Fogg was Crossing the station to the train, when he perceived
his five friends of the Reform Club.

"Well, gentlemen," he said, "I'm off, you see; and, if you will
examine my passport when I get back, you will be able to judge
whether I have accomplished the journey agreed upon."

"Oh, that would be quite unnecessary, Mr. Fogg," said Ralph
politely. "We will trust your word, as a gentleman of honor."

"You do not forget when you are due in London again?" asked
Stuart."In eighty days. On Saturday, the 21st of December, 1872,
at a quarter before nine P.M. Good-by, gentlemen."

Phileas Fogg and his servant seated themselves in a first-class
carriage at twenty minutes before nine. Five minutes later the
whistle screamed, and the train slowly glided out of the station.

The night was dark, and a fine, steady rain was falling. Phileas
Fogg, leaning back in his corner, did not open his lips.
Passepartout, not yet recovered from his stupefaction, clung
mechanically to the carpetbag, with its enormous treasure.

Just as the train was whirling through Sydenham, Passepartout
suddenly uttered a cry of despair.

Phileas Fogg rightly suspected that his departure from London
would create a lively sensation at the West End. The news of the
bet spread through the Reform Club, and afforded an exciting
topic of conversation to its members. >From the club it soon got
into the papers throughout England. The boasted "tour of the
world" was talked about, disputed, argued with as much warmth as
if the subject were another Alabama claim. Some took sides with
Phileas Fogg, but the large majority shook their heads and
declared against him. It was absurd, impossible, they declared,
that the tour of the world could be made, except theoretically
and on paper, in this minimum of time, and with the existing
means of traveling. The Times, Standard, Morning Post and Daily
News, and twenty other highly respectable newspapers scouted Mr.
Fogg's project as madness.